There was butter on the table, and portion packs of Nutella. But why would we eat the breakfast of a million international hotels when we could enjoy the real Sicilian experience? Locals' breakfast in the fishing village of Scopello, west of Palermo, is bread still warm from the bakery, dipped in olive oil from down the road, sprinkled with salt and eaten with pecorino cheese and, of course, a good strong caffè.

Marisin, our hostess at Pensione Tranchina in Scopello, also served homemade jam and cakes at breakfast, and her set dinners were a delight: pasta with herbs and various vegetables, followed by locally caught fish (sea bream baked in salt one night, huge prawns another), a palate-cleanser in the form of a huge chilled blood orange, then dessert, often based on that other Sicilian speciality, ricotta.

We'd ended up in western Sicily out of cussedness. Everyone we spoke to about our trip to Sicily had said the same things: Cefalù, Taormina … You'll love it, wonderful places … Taormina, Cefalù. When even a friendly young Palermitano on the plane repeated the mantra, we flipped.

Sicily is a big place. It's bigger than Wales, but there's more to Wales than Snowdon and the Gower. So, from Palermo, we literally turned our backs on the tourist honeypots and headed for the "wild west".

Five minutes' drive from Scopello is the Zingaro nature reserve, a 7km strip of unspoilt coast and soaring mountains where a friendly guide showed us how to spot the wild fennel used in the classic Sicilian dish pasta con le sarde. The sprig we picked was still fantastically pungent when we came across it in my husband's pocket a week later. The reserve has a handful of impossibly cute pebbly coves, and three mountain refuges offering walkers free overnight accommodation.

The village's other draw is its picturesque Tonnara, or tuna fishery, with fishermen's cottages and old warehouses round a small bay. Part of Ocean's Twelve was filmed here, and Gavin Maxwell (author of the otter-tastic Ring of Bright Water) lived in one of the cottages in 1953, writing the cheery-sounding Ten Pains of Death.

This was barely scratching the surface of western Sicily, however, so we headed for its hilly interior.

"This is the real Sicily," our host Paolo Barbon declared over a dinner of local, mostly organic, ingredients, looking out at mountains and starry sky near the hill village of Contessa Entellina. He was referring to the way the touristy spots to north and east are spoilt by tour buses, Irish pubs and Tex-Mex restaurants. But Paolo is not a real Sicilian; he grew up in Venice and worked as a chef in five-star hotels all over the world before moving here and buying an organic olive grove. On it he has built an eco-friendly B&B, with thick layers of cork for insulation. Called La Rocca dei Capperi, it is popular with cyclists and walkers.

Festival bread at Contessa Entellina

Next day was the feast of San Giuseppe in Contessa. The village band was playing in the streets, and people flocked to a makeshift altar on the piazza, bringing offerings of fruit, bread, pastries, frittatas. Just when the altar looked on the point of collapsing, a housewife would arrive with another groaning platter, and room would be found.

People seemed delighted that we had found their festival all the way from London, and plied us with food, chatting about the old days, and the 1968 earthquake, when nearby towns were flattened. Eventually, unable to look at another plate of doughnuts or dish of roasted chickpeas and the exhortation "mangia, mangia", we made to leave. A smiling young woman wrapped up two intricately shaped loaves of golden bread and thrust them into my hands.

But if this was the real Sicily, why were we hearing a strange language, not Italian, or even Sicilian dialect? And why was the Catholic church silent and empty while it was standing room only down the hill at the Byzantine church, all incense, icons and Greek-looking priests? That, we learnt, was because Contessa is part of the island's Albanian community, founded in the 15th century by mercenaries fighting for the island's Aragonese (Spanish) rulers. Their language, "tabresh", lives on. Real Sicily? Hmm.

We headed back towards the sea, this time to Baglio Vajarassa, an agriturismo owned by Dino Agate, who grows vines on the coastal flats north of Marsala. He was at it, too. "This is the real Sicily," he declared after dinner. We just nodded, feeling mellow after a meal that did seem to be the essence of the island: pasta with fresh artichokes and homemade chilli oil, a splendid grey mullet (caught the night before by Dino, out in his boat with a harpoon), and a beautiful lemon cake.

But if this was the real Sicily, why did it feel like north Africa? Could be because it almost is: Tunisia is less than 100 miles away. Dusty villages have a Saharan feel, church towers look like minarets, and farmhouses are in the form of a baglio (a fortified house round an inner courtyard – very Moorish). There are kilims in shops and couscous in restaurants.

The Doric temple at Segesta

Marsala is Sicily's most westerly city, and while it has relatively few UK visitors now, Brits were big cheeses here in the late 18th century. One John Woodhouse, forced by bad weather to put ashore, got a taste for the local wine, which he thought would be as popular back home as sherry and port already were – an idea for which one N Lawson, domestic goddess, was to be grateful 200 years later.

Dino brought out decanters of the famed wine after dinner. Turns out real marsala is dry and flavoursome – sugar is added to make the rather sickly exported tipple. It fitted with the flavours we had been enjoying all week: pungent herbs, citrus zest, capers, chilli. And one ingredient really brings out all the rest: local sea salt. From Dino's farmhouse we could see the island of Mozia, in the Stagnone lagoon, famous for thousands of years for its salt. The local fishermen's ferryboat (€5 return) to the island took us past vast saltpans dotted with picturesque red-roofed windmills, used to pump seawater. There's a museum with a restored windmill, and in summer you can watch workers in wellies and sunhats harvesting the salt with wheelbarrows.

The Phoenicians had a settlement on Mozia island. You can tour the ruins – excavated in 1888 by Joseph Whitaker, another marsala-trading Brit – and a museum includes a fifth-century BC statue of what must be the campest young man of the ancient world. The pouting Giovinetto di Mozia has pretty curls and a pleated robe, and although his arms are missing, one hand remains on one perfect jutting hip. (If old stones are not your thing, the peaceful island is worth the trip in itself, with its vineyards and tiny beaches. You can walk round it in an hour.)

Marsala city (the name derives from Marsah Allah – Allah's port) has pleasant pedestrianised old streets and lots of shops keen to have you taste their wine. Its other claim to fame is one of the world's oldest warships: the wreck of a Punic vessel from about 240BC. Housed in the archaeological museum on the seafront, it was excavated in 1969 by, you guessed it, a Brit: the formidable-sounding Honor Frost, who died last year, aged 92.

Brits, Albanians, Phoenicians, Arabs, Spaniards (Greeks and Normans were here for a while, too) … successive waves of settlers and traders were all probably prone to declaring after a good dinner that they'd found the real Sicily. It probably doesn't exist, but the island's wild, welcoming west is a great place to fail to find it.

Unusual places to stay in Sicily's wild west

Tonnara di Scopello. Photograph: Alamy

Tonnara di Scopello "When I first came to Scopello," Gavin Maxwell wrote, "I thought it was the most beautiful place I had ever seen." It hasn't changed much in 50 years, and visitors can stay in the original fishermen's cottages, a few metres from the sea. The houses sleep from two to six, with bathrooms and kitchens, but no TVs, telephones or air-con (+39 339 307 1970, tonnaradiscopello.com). Doubles from €80.

Casa Il Carmine, Erice At the entrance to the ancient, atmospheric mountain-top town of Erice, the rooms at this converted convent still feel a little like nuns' cells, in a good way – calm and contemplative. People report sleeping fantastically well. Simple en suite doubles cost from €60 a night, including breakfast (+39 0923 869089, ilcarmine.com).

Finestra sul sale (window on the salt), Ettore Infersa Stay right on the salt flats at Ettore Infersa near Mozia, in three charming beamed rooms with stone-flagged floors. Doubles from €80 (+39 0923 733003, salineettoreinfersa.com); guests get free entry to the salt museum thrown in.

Agriturismo Anni Trenta, near Castelvetrano The 1930s never ended at this quirky farm in the south of the region. Interiors are furnished with period pieces, adverts, radios, while outside, as well as raising goats, sheep and pigs, the owners keep camels, deer, lamas, emus, armadillos and more exotica (+39 0924 46434, agriturismoannitrenta.it). Doubles from €52, half-board from €45pp.

Baglio Segesta and Tenute Margana, Segesta You definitely need a 4x4 as your hire car to stay at this pair of agriturismos: they're a couple of miles from the nearest road up a track for which the word bumpy is totally inadequate. But the owners – the two families are related and operate a more or less amicable rivalry – are charming and eager to please, and the food is top notch. Tenute Margana (+39 338 3293872, tenutemargana.it) has rustic rooms from €25 a night; Baglio Segesta (+39 347 716 3864) charges the same and offers a gut-busting set lunch for just €10 a head.